


The Peanut Fiend

by Yalu



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Addiction, Crack, Gen, Human Castiel, Humor, Peanut Butter, really kind of stupid actually
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-13
Updated: 2016-05-13
Packaged: 2018-06-08 03:56:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6838138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yalu/pseuds/Yalu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel really, really likes peanut butter.<br/>For tropes_bingo: substance addiction</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Peanut Fiend

**Author's Note:**

> It's silly, it's cracky, probably the worst thing I've written in a while, but eh, it was fun. Cheer-up fic for my friend.  
> 

First it was just one jar. Dean laughed and said, "Cas, you got a real thing for peanut butter."

Cas ducked his head. "It tastes good," he muttered, and rinsed off his spoon. 

Dean chuckled and texted Sam to pick up more.

From: Sam  
_Get it yourself._

 

"I meant it, Dean. I'm not your shopping list."

Dean looked up from his laptop. "What?"

"The peanut butter? That you tried to make me get for you?"

Dean blinked, remembered, and fought the habit to try to look innocent because Sam never bought it and he _was_ innocent. This time. "Dude, I _got_ some."

"Well, I can't find it."

Dean braced himself to defend his honour (which he _had_ , thank you)– and from two chairs down, Cas said, sheepishly, "I have it."

They turned to him. He was blushing. "I'm sorry. I'll get more."

Sam shrugged. "Thanks, Cas."

 

By evening, two more jars were in the kitchen.

By morning, a few scrapes were left in the first, and the second had vanished. Maybe no one would have noticed for another day or so, except Sam was in the mood for a peanut butter and banana sandwich. 

The bananas were mushy by the time he decided he'd checked _every_ spot _and_ the receipt and, yep, definitely two jars. 

He went to find Cas.

Usually, Cas could be found in the library, outside watching the stars, or wherever Dean was. Sam – getting grumpier every second he didn't have his sandwich – even climbed to the roof of the old power plant outside before he thought to check Cas' room. 

At least seven empty jars were in his trash can: smooth, crunchy, extra crunchy, but mostly smooth. Cas had stuffed some old papers on top of them, but it was a bit pointless, what with him cramming his fingers into the jar to try and get the last streak left down the bottom as Sam walked in.

His eyes widened, he pulled his hand out, and licked it off anyway. "I can explain."

Sam vowed to buy his own peanut butter. And stash it.

 

The next time, finding Cas was no problem; Dean, finding this whole thing hillarious, had introduced Cas to the wonders of peanut butter toast, and for two days all anyone had to do to find him was to follow the smell of it melting. 

Not that tracking was needed; Cas had basically started living in the kitchen, and now both the peanut butter _and_ the bread were always gone. Sam decided the best fix for this was to steal the toaster.

Cas resorted to the oven grill.

 

Dean lost his sense of humour two days later when Cas locked himself in a bathroom and wouldn't come out. 

"Man, you don't _sound_ okay. C'mon, talk to me."

The toilet flushed again. "No, Dean."

"See, that counts as talking, so why don't you say something more useful? Huh?" Dean rapped on the door. "Cas! We're trying to help you here."

"Go away."

"Not happening."

On the hall floor, laptop balanced on his knees and ass getting numb from the cold floor, Sam tapped Page Down a few more times, finished his reading, and nodded. "Got it," he said, and shut the lid. "All right, Cas?" he said to the door. "Basically your body can't handle all the peanut oil and is trying to get rid of it as fast as possible."

"Yes, I worked that part out already," Cas bitched. Sam shook his head a little and ignored it.

"Sounds like the best way to help with that is peppermint tea, so I'm gonna go get you some, all right? Might have to go to the store."

There was a long silence – except for the squeak of the rolling toilet paper holder – then Cas said, miserably, "Thank you."

"You're welcome, buddy. I'll be right back."

 

Sam had to give up his sandwiches. It wasn't worth it: Cas had developed a sixth (seventh? eighth?) sense for peanut butter and no matter how careful Sam was to tuck a banana under his shirt when he headed off to his room with a cheese sandwich that would be picked apart two minutes later, Cas always seemed to have a reason to come by. His dresser was starting to smell of banana. 

Cas was trying, he told himself. He'd been peanut-free for a week now. He knew the stuff made him sick. He'd get over it.

 

The trash can in Cas' room never needed emptying anymore, and whenever he stayed in the bunker by himself for a few hours he got weirdly little done. Dean was the one who figured it out. 

Turns out he'd managed to make the first jar last three days, but there were eight more stocked under his mattress. Dean sighed. "Man, you think this'll help you _stop_ thinking about it? You've gotta be strong, Cas, you can beat this."

"I _am_ strong, Dean!" 

He stormed off and spent the next few hours beating up punch bags until his knucles bled. Dean went to Sam. "You've got to help him."

Sam went very still. Bit his lip. Swallowed. "Dean," he said. "It's not the same. I want to help, but– I got cleansed," he said. "Twice. If it weren't for the trials, I might have fallen off the wagon again. It doesn't translate."

Dean grimaced, nodded, and clapped him on the shoulder as he stood, wearily, to be the best friend he'd promised to be. Sam threw him a beer and then, taking pity, said, "Try giving him grape jelly."

"Why?"

 

The grape jelly was a huge success. 

When the third jar in a week disappeared, Dean started googling for signs and symptoms of preserve-related poisoning. Just in case.

 

 


End file.
